


The Two Of Us

by secrtdoor



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 21:19:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9460808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secrtdoor/pseuds/secrtdoor
Summary: Alex Turner is a single dad, trying to figure out how to be a good parent for his baby son while writing new music and working on another album.





	1. Chapter 1

Silence. A rare gift in the last few weeks, which managed to re-shape his entire schedule. There was a certain routine and little, unpredictable at first, breaks from it. He looked at the clock, rubbed his forehead and ruffled his hair, hesitating. A quarter past three. The line between night and morning was about to become more and more invisible, the colours were getting blurry, and daylight waited on the border for a sign to step forward. But it didn't mean anything to Alex, nothing of particular value, just another choice, familiar yet difficult. Sleep and work.

He spent almost four days awake, surviving on caffeine, cigarettes and inability to set his priorities straight. And his body began shutting down, but with a sixth album waiting to be recorded, new material was necessary; it had to be written as soon as possible. The sheets of paper, torn out of notebooks, covered the floor almost like a carpet. Sometimes Alex dozed off in the middle of adding final touches to a song. He lost track of reality, surroundings, events in the outside world, but never of time. Now it consisted of feeding, changing diapers, taking long walks in the park four blocks away, laundry, cleaning and, when he got lucky - silence. A moment, stolen from an eternity, just to himself.

He lay down, just for a second, with a solemn promise of getting up and being productive, closed his eyes and opened them again to a sound of displeasure, loud and undeniable discomfort. Babies were the most cluelessly demanding creatures in the world. They didn't know how to care about other people's mood, willingness to help them, physical and mental health. There were needs which had to be fulfilled, and they made sure to let everybody know. David cried, and, just like any parent, Alex had to check up on him.

The papers made a rustling noise, reminding of fallen leaves, as he carefully went out and into the nursery next door. Unlike his bedroom, David's living space was neat, with no trace of dust on any of the dozens of stuffed animals, furniture and decorations. Alex took care of it, meticulously and thoroughly, while his son enjoyed an early afternoon nap downstairs. A tradition that he surrendered to completely. 

His son needed a change of diapers, feeling whimsy, refusing to sleep even after the procedure, lying in a crib, forcing Alex to offer him a place in his arms. David's eyes were brown, the same shade that looked at him from the mirror ever so often, and they studied Alex's face as his son's left hand desperately struggled to clench a tiny fist around his dad's fringe. They moved in circles around the nursery. Houses across the street seemed a bit more visible than when he first entered the room. Almost six o'clock in the morning. Time to wake up.


	2. Chapter 2

He looked so peaceful, with his entire world spinning around one person, the only one he's ever been close to. He was so fascinated by everything new, so eager to discover new feelings, smells, sounds, to see new faces, and to be seen. The rational part of Alex thought that a three-month-old couldn't possibly understand the concept of being the center of attention. And, of course, he didn't know how to enjoy it. But the basic intuition, a parental instinct, a quiet voice that came from within was fairly certain of the opposite.

David breathed in, his eyelids winced, and his mouth moved a bit, preparing for another inhalation. A mechanism with no faults, no pauses, no breaks, perfect. Today he denied Alex rest three times in a row, showing incredible stubbornness and stamina. Persistently, David started crying minutes after being gently put into the crib and calmed down when held, pressed against the warmth of his father's chest. It felt like even their hearts were beating in sync.

Alex had to give up, eventually, to earn the right to continue his work, but refused. He sang lullabies, which were mostly slower versions of popular songs, some of them even written by him at some point in the past. Silly choices, pulled at random out of the hat of memories, and his mind played tricks, suitable for the lousy sense of humour that he had. And that's why he ended up humming "Holding a baby becomes a heavy load, too heavy to hold, too heavy to hold...", helplessly trying not to laugh.

But now the struggle was over and the one and only victor claimed his place beside Alex, lying on a bed too big for a baby. He sniffed, obliviously happy, spreading his arms on the sheets. His dad tried to be quiet, making himself comfortable on the floor among pillows and unfinished lyrics and melodies. He couldn't recall how they drifted from the nursery to his messy bedroom, and had no idea why his son felt more comfortable in this kingdom of chaos, and there was no one capable of shedding some light on the issue. Just one of those things to accept about children - their motives were often rather illogical.

Alex wanted to eat and his stomach growled, demanding, hard to ignore for longer than half an hour, at best. But right now it wasn't the main priority, and he suppressed the hunger in favour of adding a few more lines to a song that was almost perfect, as perfect as he'd managed to write in a very long time. When his body realised that making a noise wasn't enough, it switched to more radical measures, and Alex's insides burst out with pain. Point taken. He stood up, opened the door and quietly stepped outside, only to be followed by a demanding sound when making a sandwich just a few minutes later. His disappearance didn't go unnoticed. Of course.


	3. Chapter 3

Babies have minds that aren't clouded with prejudice, social norms, rules and stereotypes. Their worlds turn around their parents until, eventually, they drift away from a familiar orbit to find one of their own. But parents will be forever drawn to their children, guarding them, whether it's thirty hours or thirty years since their birth.

Back to the subject of being the main provider of everything, starting with food and ending with irreplaceable entertainment, Alex had to go grocery shopping. And David's sleep had to be so cruelly interrupted with the most tiresome procedure of being dressed in three different layers of clothes, put in a stroller, covered in a blanket up to his nose and taken out to see the world. Well, a tiny glimpse of it that was visible from his point of view, which wasn't particularly great. No one wanted to grow up as much as that little boy, and sometimes Alex caught his son's impatient gazes all across the room. Or maybe he was just hungry. Or bored. Both, probably.

The nearest store was five blocks away, which meant a bumpy ride for David, and a good hour and a half without smoking for Alex. He did try to give up on the habit, he tried his hardest and failed, mostly because fatherhood wasn't just fascination with a miracle of life and overwhelming joy. It was also puke, crying and poop. Lots and lots of poop. And a routine that depended on the baby's needs above all else. 

There were a couple of other young parents in the neighborhood, and he watched the mothers, stunned by how easy they made it look. How effortlessly caring they were. And he knew at what price that effortlessness was achieved, and how few hours of sleep they got, and it caused for a whole new kind of respect towards women, and appreciation. And God, how he wanted to sleep. For about forty hours, give or take. Or maybe two full days. 

The supermarket was almost empty, thankfully, therefore if David decided to make a loud scene there wouldn't be too many witnesses. A little less public embarrassment for Alex. 

"Let's just keep it quiet, alright, buddy? And I'll make sure to keep it quick. Deal?"

His son's lips moved, but his eyes remained closed. Good. Maybe it was one of the good days.

Alex no longer needed a list of things to buy - it was stuck inside his head like a stupid radio tune, catchy in its meaninglessness. Three quarters of the shopping cart were filled with attributes of David's life, and there was just enough remaining space to fit some eggs, potatoes, pasta and bread. He didn't really eat much, not recently.

They just arrived, but Alex already wanted to head back. Back to the unfinished songs and dirty diapers. Back to musical instruments and stuffed animals. Back to what's considered to be normal now. Back home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's so small, but I'm trying to do a few things at once and simply don't have the time. I would also appreciate all kinds of feedback from you, guys! Thank you for reading)

David had finally found the most comfortable position inside his crib and fell asleep shortly afterwards. Visibly calmed by a long stroll around the neighborhood, he yawned quite a few times on their way back and now rested peacefully. This gave Alex approximately two hours of free time and after cleaning the house a little bit, taking out the trash and wiping the dust from all visible surfaces, he sat in a chair in the kitchen and lit up a cigarette.

The small backyard was quite desolated, and even though Alex gave a solemn promise to take better care of it during spring, he also had a strong feeling that the promise was about to follow the yard's unappealing fate. He simply didn't have enough time to catch up with all the things he wanted to do, and the list of those only grew bigger each day, just like his baby son.

The smoke went up to the ceiling, floating in circles of different sizes, slowly dissolving as time passed by. Alex sure did need a break from the routine, and David's gift of silence wasn't lasting, which meant that he had to get upstairs and work for as long as he could. It felt like he kept on stealing these moments of privacy, strangely, from his son, for the last three months. And even the home studio, based in the attic, soundproof and with all the best professional equipment, wasn't enough to find a distraction. Alex's mind always drifted back downstairs, closely listening to the baby monitor on the table as his fingers played mechanically. The results of such "creative process" were mediocre, if not absolutely terrible.

Yet again, accompanied by this little device, an electronic connection to David, he left the kitchen with a last apologizing look at the backyard, went to the studio and locked the door. New melodies, new riffs, new lyrics. Everything new, including himself. With his eyes closed, dissolved in the rhythm, Alex tried to find the right sound for the new album or, at least, the right direction to work in. Undisturbed for almost an hour he finally managed to write a couple of potentially successful tunes and smiled quietly.

As David started to get whimsy, the instruments were put aside and the father, who Alex was first and foremost, hurried back to his son. And only with the baby settled inside his arms, breathing calmly through his mouth and reaching out to touch his dad's nose, Alex chuckled and proceeded to the living room. There were still things to be done, but it was going to be alright. They were going to be alright.


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey, I'm going to feed you but you've got to promise not to puke? Do we have a deal, little man? Alright then."

Alex brought the bottle closer to David's mouth, allowing his son to adjust to it, grasping on its promising warmth with his hands and closing his eyes while eating. Alex had to be careful because that cute, innocent baby had quite a tendency for unexpected whims and absolutely enjoyed making his dad uncomfortable, or so it felt. Of course, it couldn't have been true, but washing his clothes after every single feeding session was time-consuming, which always kept Alex slightly annoyed, and falling behind on every other project of his wasn't helpful.

David stopped drinking for a moment, his face wrinkled, all ready to cry. Alex had to put the bottle on a table and lift his son up to his chest and pat on his back lightly without a second thought. 

"I presumed we had a deal here, aye?"

David made an incoherent sound and giggled proudly, turning away from an unuappealing stain of vomit on his dad's t-shirt, eager to get the bottle back.

"But you don't give a fuck about good manners, do you?"

The tiny hand reached out and pulled on his father's fringe to get the attention he clearly deserved. Alex couldn't help but laugh at it, trying to free his hair from the grasp and fetch the object of David's desire - the bottle - simultaneously.

"And, thank God, you don't understand the meaning of curse words. I'm not ready to start watching my language quite yet. Oh, can't give you the milk back if you keep torturing me like that. Oh, shit."

Apparently, David found it to be rather amusing, the way his helpless father was obviously torn between the bedside table and his grip. Alex made the last effort and finally released the last strands of his hair, which caused for a long disappointed stare as David decided whether it was worth crying about or not.

"Such a terrible parent, ain't I? No fun at all."

The remains of milk were drank in silence. Alex put his son back into the crib, stretched and headed to the bathroom for yet another round of cleaning up. The lack of daylight outside, as well as flickering yellow balls of lanterns, meant that it was getting late. And in the room down the hallway, unaware of dangers that hid in the dark, safe in his nursery, David was waiting for a bedtime story.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the last chapter. I can't promise a sequel, but maybe there will be one. Because, let's make it clear, this fic takes place in autumn of 2010. Which was seven years ago. I'm leaving the rest to your imagination. Thank you for reading!)

"Just that," said the fox. "To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes."

David frowned, confused, struggling to remember where the story ended the evening before, and gasped, mesmerized by the difficulty of thinking. His mind was still very much full of simplistic chaos, its workings aimed on rather basic needs, and his memories didn't last long, replaced by newer ones constantly.

"Does the beginning feel a little "out of the blue" to you, too? Well, I'm not the one who fell asleep right in the middle of a chapter, causing for an abrupt ending."

Alex leaned against the comfort of one of the two armchairs that were in David's nursery, the most ethereal hue of mint green, and yawned. His son looked up, blinked and dutifully repeated after his father, and then focused on the book that Alex was holding.

"Already tired, both of us. So shall we continue?"

David smiled, agreeing, asking for more. His father flicked another page and carried on reading, finishing the passage.

"But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world..."

For no longer than an instant did Alex's mind stop to contemplate on the meaning of these sentences, both the obvious and the hidden. There, in his son's hands, was held a great power, if not over the entire world, but a single person who sat next to his crib, reading, at this very moment. An unbreakable bond.

The evening went on at a reasonable pace, slowly merging into early night, and the last sentences that Alex read weren't heard by anyone else but him because David was fast asleep.

"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose..."  
"I am responsible for my rose," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember."

In the darkness of the nursery, diluted only by a bed lamp, two pairs of lungs were breathing in unison. The book, fallen out of Alex's weakened grip, lay on the soft white carpet. Tomorrow there was going to be a different day with all kinds of people to meet and things to do. But at this time, in this room, it were just the two of them in the whole world.


End file.
